


i promise you, kid, you're safe now

by bstarship



Series: how they met before they met [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Irondad, Kid Peter Parker, Peter Parker Gets a Hug, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Pre-Iron Man 1, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Tiny Peter, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark is Good With Kids, i just miss peter and tony ok???, with his tiny toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:19:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27009490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bstarship/pseuds/bstarship
Summary: Tony doesn’t waste another minute as he grabs a can of Coke, a bag of Funyuns, and heads up to the counter with disgust evident in his features. Little words are said until he lays down a few dollar bills and starts toward the door.The bearded-man catches him with a cold smile. “Have a good night, you sick son of a bitch,” he says, and Tony leaves without sparing a glance.He doesn’t bother dwelling on what the man said as he fumbles for his car keys. With the bag of Funyuns between his teeth and the can of Coke stuffed beneath his arm, he digs around each pocket—from his pants to his jacket—to find the key fob. An odd sound meets his ear before he can hit the unlock button.Is something... crying?orTony stumbles upon a four-year-old kid named Peter Parker on a late-night drive upstate.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: how they met before they met [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1971205
Comments: 43
Kudos: 479





	i promise you, kid, you're safe now

Peter has never seen his dad cry before. He has never seen a grown man weep over stacks of paper before shoving them all into a singular brown briefcase. Peter guesses that the tears are over the rips and wrinkles—Richard Parker has always maintained a strict, tidy look, and he won’t have it any other way. But what haunts Peter most of all is the way his parents speak so he won’t be able to hear. He hates it when they whisper. He hates when they keep secrets. 

They have been asking him to pack his backpack for the past hour, meanwhile, they run around the house with duffles in tow and Peter can’t take it upon himself to move. He watches them, doe-eyed and meek as a mouse—as his mom would say—and keeps his feet planted like a tree. He won’t utter a word unless he’s spoken to. 

He can’t move because, in all honesty, he’s afraid to. He has never seen his parents behave so suspiciously, so secretive that they won’t tell their son where they’re headed or why they need to go. Luggage sits in a small pile by the front door, light bags accompanied by his favorite suitcase that his mom packed up for him. He hasn’t made an effort to gather things in his _The Incredibles–_ themed backpack like his parents have told him to do. All of his toys, his coloring books, and action figures are still scattered around his room, wondering if he’ll leave them behind because he was too busy wondering if he’ll ever return. 

“Pete, honey, can you please go pack up some things?” his mom asks, kneeling before him with tears in her eyes despite her smile. She holds up his backpack, and when he takes it, he presses it close to his chest. “Anything you want. Stuffie the lion. All of your Pokémon cards. Anything. Just pack all that you can in here. Can you do that for me, Pete?” 

Peter nods slowly. “Even Leonardo?”

“Leonardo?”

“My Mu’ant Ninja Turtle.”

His mom’s smile trembles as it tightens. “Even Leonardo.”

Peter thinks they’re in Brooklyn by the time he decides to ask where they’re going. He has a bag of Goldfish crackers on his lap nestled right beside a MadLibs, yet the quiet whispers his parents share in the front seats are all he can focus on. Whispers that he can’t make out, whispers that he knows aren’t meant for him. And it absolutely kills him. 

He thinks he deserves to know. The booster seat smells like road trips and visits to Splashdown USA, sunscreen still stuck in the fabric from the summer before. If they were headed there, they would have packed his bathing suit, but even he knows that the weather is too cold for swimming. That’s when Peter’s intrigue gets the best of him. 

“Are we goin’ to Gram’s?” he asks, kicking his legs up. A few crackers are sent flying. 

Peter’s mom, Mary, leans her head around from the passenger seat and smiles. It’s her fake smile, one he knows all too well, but he doesn’t press her about it. He doesn’t know any better. “Not tonight,” she says, “but we can see her soon. We just have to leave the city for a few days.”

Peter furrows his eyebrows as he pops a Goldfish in his mouth. “Why?”

His parents exchange looks. He can see the outline of his dad from the driver’s seat, his shoulders high and tense as he takes the car a little faster than usual. 

“We need to get away,” Mary answers, “for work. But it’s only gonna be a few days. Promise. You have Stuffie with you, yeah?”

Peter glances at the toy lion on top of this backpack and smiles. “Yeah,” he says. “He likes cars.” 

“Does he like Ohio?” asks Peter’s dad.

“Richard,” Mary scolds.

“What?”

Peter decides that he doesn’t like the situation they’re in, and despite not knowing anything, he grabs a hold of Stuffie to make him feel better. 

“We’re not going to Ohio,” Mary says. 

Richard takes his eyes off the road for a moment to glance at his wife. “Where else are we gonna go, Mary?” he asks her, voice rising enough for Peter to hug his stuffed animal tighter. “We can’t go to your mom’s. We can’t go to my parents’. My brother lives too close, and your brother lives in _Idaho_ for fu—goddammit.” 

A shaky exhale echoes throughout the car. Other than the sound of honks from behind them, the car falls silent. 

“Stuffie doesn’t like Ah-hi-o,” Peter says.

No one answers him. 

He has never heard it this quiet before, at least not that he can recall. He’s all too aware of his chewing, cracker crumbs falling onto his lap, meanwhile, he’s mesmerized by the red traffic lights and how they glow in the night. Red has always been his favorite color; he doesn’t understand why it is making his dad so angry. Every time the car slows to a stop, the steering wheel is hit with a forceful slap of his palm. Nevertheless, the silence remains.

Peter doesn’t recognize his surroundings after a while, and it’s far too dark to see. Once the roads are lined with trees and stars, he becomes lost in his head again. He doesn’t know how late it is. He doesn’t know _where_ he is. And he can’t seem to find it in himself to fall asleep. His booster seat has never been comfortable, and he’s too eager to see where they will go. 

A few words are exchanged between his parents at one point, yet Peter doesn’t tune back in quick enough to catch what has been said. Only minutes later, they’re merging onto an exit—that’s a rare word that Peter knows how to read. He’s not too familiar with numbers or how many there are, but he knows his age. He’s four, and he likes being four. But the number on the exit sign is nowhere near four. 

After that, it only takes a minute to reach a gas station that Peter assumes is haunted. There’s not another car or person in sight. The fluorescent lights make him feel more awake than ever.

His mom steps inside as his dad fills the tank with gas. When she asked if anyone else had to use the restroom, Peter almost wanted to lie so he wouldn’t be apart from her. He felt fine, so in his booster seat he remained. 

While she’s gone, Peter’s dad shoots smiles at him through the cracked window. The smiles are not as tight, not as tense, and Peter feels comforted by them.

“You okay?” Richard asks him. 

Peter nods. “Super.”

“Super, huh?” His dad winks. “Like Superman?”

“No. I’m my own hero.”

Richard laughs as a click echoes in the night, signaling that the gas has finished filling. “Course you are, Pete.”

They have been sitting in a parking spot near a bin of ice bags for five minutes now, but Peter is too preoccupied with the MadLibs on his lap to notice. His parents say that he’s smart for his age. They say that they’re proud of him, and they talk about his future a lot. After a while, Peter decided that he didn’t like it when his parents talked about him. 

Richard taps at the steering wheel, and an occasional hum leaves him as he stares at the front doors to the convenient store. Time continues to pass. Peter doesn’t dare ask his dad to turn up the radio. There’s something about the moment—he can tell—that makes him uneasy. He wishes he had brought his blankie with him, and the thought makes him cry. 

The anxiety in the car only grows. Richard’s breathing is uneven, eyes still shifting back and forth between the clock and the door, and he throws a glance back at Peter every so often. Every glance is accompanied by a smile. 

Peter doesn’t like the smiles. They’re the kind of smiles he gets when he’s not allowed to eat animal cookies before dinner time. The kind of smiles he gets every time he’s told _no_. Not real, he thinks. Not genuine. 

“Shit,” Richard mutters to himself, rapidly unbuckling and twisting around in his seat to face Peter. The smile returns. “I’m just gonna be right back, okay, Pete? You stay right here. Don’t leave your seat. Don’t unbuckle. Just stay right here. I’ll be right back. Promise me you won’t leave?”

Peter stares at his dad with wide eyes. He doesn’t know what this feeling is, but he doesn’t like it. “I won’t leave,” he says, nodding.

“Good.” Richard opens the door and climbs out. Before he closes it, he turns back to Peter. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too, Daddy.” 

Peter watches his dad enter the store, disappearing between aisles of candy and chips that Peter’s stomach growls for. 

He doesn’t know how to read time yet, but he knows he should be sleeping by now. He knows that 8:02 is a lot different from 8:45. He knows that his mom hasn’t been back for a long time, and now, his dad is gone too. The cracked window allows enough cool air in for Peter to take deep breaths through quiet sobs. He can’t remember when he started crying, and there’s an ache in his cheeks that he hasn’t felt in a while. 

Enough time has passed for Peter to need to use the bathroom now. He watches the doors for his mom, for his dad, but they never open. No one goes in and no one comes out. His tears fall silently—he’ll make himself sick if he cries any harder, but the fear and discomfort he feels only grows by the second. He can’t eat his Goldfish crackers anymore. He can’t complete his MadLibs. He can’t think about anything else except for how much he misses his parents and how long they’ve been gone. 

His dad told him not to move, so all Peter does is sit and wait.

* * *

Tony eyes the road in his rearview mirror. He escaped from a gala nearly two hours ago, champagne still running through his veins as the fuzz in his brain slowly dwindles away. If he can recall the night correctly—which, as of late, has been rare—then he had been pinned at the waist all night by strangers until making a grand exit right before his speech. At some point, between then and his arrival, he had spilled a dark brown liquid along the pant leg of his white suit. It only perturbed him for a moment, and then thoughts of driving all night with the top down consumed. 

He follows I-87 up to Woodstock before splitting left. The road is quiet after that, hardly a soul in sight as the clock on his wrist passes nine o’clock at night, and the cool breeze in his hair is enough to keep him awake. He hasn’t been paying attention to the highway signs since he left the city—they’re nothing but green shapes in his peripherals, his mind too warbled to make out the words. It doesn’t matter where he’s going. It doesn’t matter where he’s been. Sometimes, in Tony’s eyes, the destination never matters if the adventure isn’t in the journey.

Despite the alcohol in his system, his head is sharp. Clear. Inhabited. The past thirty-odd years of his life have led to this moment—fleeing a gala where his options of a blonde and a brunette left him wishing on a redhead. He finds comfort on a backroad in New York for clarity. A minor escape from the mess of his life. When Tony is alone, he’s just Tony. 

A craving for Funyuns overlaps his thoughts, and he waits it out until a sudden pressure in his bladder becomes too painful to ignore. On this stretch of road, there’s nothing but trees and homes, and if it weren’t for his quest to find a bathroom, it would be a nice change of pace. 

A tiny Mobile sign catches his eye in the distance. As he pulls up to the gas station for a whizz and a can of coke, he avoids the only other car in the lot—a tiny Ford Taurus with a dent above its left rear tire. He feels unsettled by the sea of trees surrounding him, so he makes it his goal to be in and out of the place before he can count to one hundred. 

The only other person in the store is a bearded-man behind the register. He mutters along to Akon playing over the speakers, eyeing Tony with an intense gaze that only spurs on his discomfort. 

“Got a key to the bathroom?” Tony asks, shoving his hands into his pockets as he suddenly remembers the whiskey stain above the knee. 

The man grunts something incoherent before slapping a bright orange lanyard down on the counter. 

Tony gives him a slight nod. “Thanks.”

It’s a bathroom for one—a toilet, a sink, and an overflowing trash can with an empty pregnancy test box sticking out from the side. Each step he takes is followed up by a sticky _shluck_ as he walks across the yellow tile. A spot of graffiti beside the toilet reads _2 Hell with JT._ And once he’s washing his hands, there’s no soap to dissolve the grime from his time spent there. 

Tony doesn’t waste another minute as he grabs a can of Coke, a bag of Funyuns, and heads up to the counter with disgust evident in his features. Little words are said until he lays down a few dollar bills and starts toward the door. 

The bearded-man catches him with a cold smile. “Have a good night, you sick son of a bitch,” he says, and Tony leaves without sparing a glance. 

He doesn’t bother dwelling on what the man said as he fumbles for his car keys. With the bag of Funyuns between his teeth and the can of Coke stuffed beneath his arm, he digs around each pocket—from his pants to his jacket—to find the key fob. An odd sound meets his ear before he can hit the unlock button. 

Is something _crying?_

Tony holds his breath and keeps his movements still. It has to be a wounded animal, he thinks, knitting his brows in tight. The plastic bag crinkles as he takes it out from between his teeth. A few disembodied sniffles follow, and his eyes fall on the other car across the lot. It’s almost too hard to see—the only source of light comes from the flickering bulbs above the gas pumps, and Tony’s eyes have grown tired. 

From what he can tell, the front seats are empty and the back window is cracked open. He can’t see much else. For a moment, the crying noises die down, so he turns back around to get into his car. 

But then he stops. He’s not seriously concerned; right? He shouldn’t be bothered. Tony unlocks the car and sets the Funyuns inside before shutting his door. He’s not bothered, he tells himself. So, why is he halfway across the parking lot, sipping on a can of Coke that he bought for under a dollar at a shady gas station? Because he _is_ bothered. He’s _worried_. 

Tony raises his fist to knock on the glass. A sniff and a whimper answer him. 

It’s a kid. It’s a goddamn kid.

“Hey—uh, you okay in there?” Tony asks, crouching down to catch a glimpse of curly hair from over the cracked window. 

The child doesn’t reply. 

“I’m not trying to freak you out, kid,” Tony says, “I promise. I know about the whole _stranger danger_ thing. Personally, I also hate talking to strangers, so we’re in the same boat here.”

Once again, there is no reply. 

He sighs. “Okay, then. I get it. No hard feelings. Are your parents around here?”

Finally, a soft “no” comes from inside the car. Between quiet sobs, the kid continues, “I don’t—don’t know w-where they are.” 

Tony’s eyes widen slightly, and he backs up to scan the area for other cars or homes. Aside from the man inside, there’s no one around. A knot forms in Tony’s stomach as he leans on the side of the car. 

“How long have they been gone?” 

The head of curls shakes. “Dunno.”

Tony’s mind is crawling with thoughts and questions. He recalls the last time he held a conversation with a child—at the 2001 Stark Industries’ annual Christmas party in California. His secretary’s nephew had been dying to meet him. Tony hasn’t had much interaction with anyone under the age of twenty-one since then. And now, in the backseat of an abandoned car in upstate New York sits a young kid, most likely under the age of five, and Tony is completely dumbfounded. His masters in engineering and physics hadn’t prepared him for this. 

“All right,” he mutters, “tell ya what. I’ll help you find your parents.”

The kid sniffs again. 

“Do you know where they went?” 

“Mommy went to pee,” he says softly. Another cry leaves his lips followed by a small hiccup. “Daddy went t’find her.”

Tony looks toward the convenient store, and the knot in his stomach unravels. He wishes he had never left the gala. He wishes he had continued up I-87 until he hit the US-Canadian border and never looked back.

“I’m just gonna make a quick phone call, kid,” Tony tells him. “Stay where you are.”

“You’re gonna find m-my mommy an’ daddy?” 

“I’ll—” Tony sucks in a breath as the kid’s watery eyes peek out from over the window. It’s an innocent he can’t recall, one he might have never had, but it breaks his heart to witness. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  
  


The police come and go. 

The information they receive from the kid is next to nil—as Tony suspected—yet they’re able to find that all of the security cameras inside of the store had been turned off for the night. The owner is taken in for questioning, and Tony makes an uncharacteristic decision. 

He decides that the kid is coming with him.

After an argument with an officer ensues— _you dumbasses really think a police station in the middle of butt-fuck-nowhere is gonna be the best place for a four-year-old kid?—_ Tony’s case is made. He will hear out the kid, find out if he has relatives, and relay the information over to the police so he can feel a hint of comfort while his parents are still out there missing. 

That’s how he ends up with a four-year-old in the back of his convertible, drop top closed with a booster buckled into the okapi brown seats. That same four-year-old, with his bright pink, tear-streaked cheeks, has only finally stopped crying. 

Tony’s gaze darts between the road and the kid in his rearview mirror. He won’t dare acknowledge the unexplainable feeling washing over him, but he allows himself to worry nevertheless. He would never wish that kind of loss on anyone. Losing parents all at once is a different kind of hurt, but it’s one that the kid will never understand. 

Tony lets himself breathe. He lets himself relax into his seat as he asks, “what’s your name, kid?” 

The kid sits up in his car seat and meets Tony’s eyes in the mirror. “Peter Benjamin Parker,” he says. It’s already more information than the police were able to get. “Do you got one?”

“A name?”

Peter nods.

“Yeah, I got a name,” Tony says, cracking a small smile. “Three of ‘em, just like you. Anthony Edward Stark. People just call me Tony.”

“Tony,” Peter repeats in a low whisper as he looks out the window.

“So, Peter Benjamin Parker,” Tony says. The last name sounds familiar to him, and he’s not sure why. “You like pancakes?”

The question makes Peter smile. 

Tony remembers passing a small 24-hour diner on the way up I-87. Peter doesn’t speak up again as Tony drives, milkshake on the mind while his Funyuns sit forgotten in the passenger seat. An 80s ballad drones lowly on the radio, and to his surprise, Peter ends up humming along. He hasn’t cried since leaving the gas station with his stuffed lion clutched to his chest. According to Peter, its name is Stuffie.

At the diner, they settle into a mint green vinyl booth, a dented jukebox radio nestled on the tabletop between them. Peter’s eyes are still wide, still watery, yet he won’t let himself cry anymore. The glasses that frame his face are a few sizes too big for a kid his age. 

There’s only one other patron in the diner with them. An older waitress pours Tony a cup of coffee before he can decline. 

“I want pancakes,” Peter tells the waitress right away. 

She smiles at him and says, “okay, sugar. Would you like them plain, chocolate, blueberry, or strawberry?”

Peter’s eyes light up. “B’ueberry.”

Tony can’t identify the brief twinge in his chest, and he lets it subside as he laughs at the kid’s reaction. “Two blueberry pancakes for the kid. Just a chocolate malt for me.”

They return to their silence once the waitress leaves. Peter is busy staring around the room when Tony slides him a few quarters. 

“What?” Peter asks, furrowing his brows as his glasses shift down his nose slightly. He pushes them up with a quick nudge. 

Tony tilts his head toward the jukebox radio. “Pick out a few songs. Nothing too obnoxious. I’ve already heard _Afternoon Delight_ five times tonight.”

Peter twists his lips as he stares at the coins. Tony, with his little knowledge about kids, almost wonders if he’s not sure what to do with them. But Peter lifts himself up, high enough so he can stand on the edge of the booth, and inserts two coins into the machine. Tony doesn’t have the chance to show him how it works before Peter presses A8.

“Don’t Be Cruel” by Elvis Presley plays a few minutes later. 

“You have any relatives, Pete?” Tony asks long after Peter has settled back into the booth. “Anyone you won’t mind staying with for a little while?”

Peter thinks about it for a moment. “I like my aunt and uncle.” 

“They live in New York?”

He hums. “ _Jus’ down the street_. That’s why my daddy says.” 

Tony sips at his hot coffee and grimaces. The night has sobered him enough to not worry about spilling the liquid on his white pants. “Just down the street, eh? Where’s that then? In the city?”

“Queens,” Peter answers. 

_Queens?_ _What the hell is the kid doing up here?_

“You’re a long way from home then, kid,” Tony says. “Where were you and your parents headed?”

Peter’s lip trembles at the mention of his parents, yet he keeps himself composed as he shrugs. “Dunno,” he mumbles. “Home’s not safe.” 

“Home’s not safe?”

“Daddy says home’s not safe.”

Tony frowns, and before he can reply, a plate of pancakes is set down before Peter. A malt shake is placed before Tony. The wide smile that stretches on Peter’s face is enough to get Tony to change the subject. 

As he discards his jacket and proceeds to cuff the sleeves of his button-up, Tony can’t help but smile along with Peter. The kid has already drowned his pancakes in syrup, and the whipped cream smiley face on top instantly dissolves. 

“Does Stuffie like pancakes too?” Tony asks, motioning to the stuffed animal beside the jukebox. Meanwhile, he pours his milkshake from the metal cup into the glass and drops a striped straw down the center. 

Peter shakes his head. “Can’t have g’uten.” 

Tony chuckles. “Can’t have gluten, eh? I’m amazed that you know what that is.” 

“Mommy can’t eat g’uten.”

“Ah.” 

“Stuffie likes Goldfish and gummy worms,” Peter continues in between syrup-drenched bites. “Cos’ I like Goldfish and gummy worms.”

“Well, who doesn’t?” Tony replies. “But you know what happens when you eat too many gummy worms?”

Peter blinks up at him with raised brows. “What?” 

“You turn into one.”

“No!” Peter cries, smiling wide as a fit of giggles leaves his lips. “Not true!” 

Tony shrugs, and he can’t hold back his laughter. He has managed to forget all about the gala. For now, all he cares about is the kid. “It’s true,” he says. “I’ve seen it. Got turned into one myself. Luckily no one ate me before I changed back into a human.”

Peter seems amazed by the content of the conversation, and for that, Tony is relieved. He hasn’t spoken to a child in nearly four years—so far, he thinks that he’s doing pretty well. 

“But I’m okay now,” Tony continues, thinning out his milkshake with a spoon. “Right as rain. I’ve got the best doctors around. Although sometimes I still think I might be part-worm.”

Peter’s jaw drops. “Cool,” he mutters. 

“So, you like Goldfish and gummy worms,” Tony says. “What else do you like? Video games? Puzzles? Movies?”

“I like Scooby-Doo,” Peter answers. He swipes at the syrup on his cheek with the sleeve of his sweater. 

“Scooby-Doo. Like, _ruh-roh, Raggy_ —that Scooby-Doo?” 

Tony has lost count over the number of times Peter’s face has brightened. He has never been so proud to make a kid smile before. 

“Again,” Peter says, smiling wide enough so the entire diner can see it. 

“ _Ruh-roh, Raggy._ ”

His giggles fill Tony’s heart. Never, in his thirty-five years of living, has Tony ever enjoyed the idea of kids. He has never considered having them—they would never fit into his plan. But now, as he sits here with Peter, it occurs to Tony that he has never had a plan. He has never thought about settling down in the future. And, in all honesty, it doesn’t sound too bad. 

Peter finishes his pancakes in a matter of minutes. At that point, it is nearly eleven o’clock at night. Tony wishes he had a little more time, and it’s selfish, he knows, but he doesn’t want to drive all the way to Queens. Not yet. 

But he also knows that he doesn’t have a choice. 

On their way out, he makes a phone call while he tries to win Peter another stuffed animal from the claw machine. Pepper is on the other end, slightly frustrated that he vanished from the gala before making his speech, but the annoyance fades once Tony explains the situation. 

“I need you to find an address for me,” he says, ruffling Peter’s hair while his phone sits nestled between his shoulder and his ear. He mutters a sharp, “shit” as the fat frog he was trying to win slips out of the claw’s grip. 

“Shit?” Peter asks.

“Sh, don’t repeat that,” Tony tells him, chuckling. “I’ll get in trouble.”

“What’s the name?” Pepper says. 

“Peter Benjamin Parker.”

“Wow,” she mutters dryly. “You have the middle name and everything. Aren’t you special?”

Tony shoves another dollar bill into the machine with his sights reset on the fat frog; meanwhile, Peter squeals and taps at the glass. “Not really,” Tony says. “That’s just how he introduced himself. So you’ll do it?” 

“Well, I’d rather be in bed,” Pepper answers, sighing, “but yeah. I’ll do it. I’m just hoping this will end up being some sort of fever dream in the morning. Unless it’s all just some publicity stunt.”

“Pepper, I literally don’t even know where I am,” Tony says. The claw drops on top of the frog, and Peter sucks in a breath. “I wouldn’t use a four-year-old as some stunt. I deserve more credit than that.”

“Forgive me,” she replies, unamused. “I’ve just been your assistant for two years and have never seen you interact with a kid once.”

The fat frog lifts into the air with the claw. Peter can hardly contain himself despite the late hour; it’s Tony’s fault for feeding him pancakes with sugary syrup, but the small cheers of glee are music to his ears. The claw carries the frog over to the small chute and drops it in. 

“Sorry, Pep, gotta go,” Tony says as Peter holds up the round stuffed animal with a beaming smile. “Kid just won the fattest stuffed animal I’ve ever seen in my life, so we obviously have to celebrate. Call me back if you find anything, yeah?”

He can feel her roll her eyes through the phone, but he can visual her smile as well.

“Fine,” she says. “Drive safe.”

“I am _always_ safe.” 

Peter is still hugging the fat frog by the time they pull out onto the Interstate again. He has a small smile etched into his face, one that has seemingly forgotten why he’s here in the first place, and it breaks Tony’s heart. Four-year-olds are too naive to understand why their parents may be missing. All Peter knows is that tonight, he made a new friend. _Two_ new friends. Tony and the fat frog on his lap that has seemingly replaced Stuffie. 

“So,” Tony says after a while, “what’re you gonna name this one?”

Peter hums loudly and turns his frog around so he can face it. “Tony,” he replies. “Like it?” 

Tony smiles. “Yeah,” he says. He doesn’t think he’ll lose that smile for a while. “Tony’s a good, quality name, I think. You like it?”

Peter nods. “Love it.” 

When Pepper calls back as they reach Manhattan, Tony’s heart drops a little. He has managed to forget how he ended up with the kid in the first place. And he refuses to think about what might happen after he drops Peter off with his aunt and uncle. Once he says goodbye, there’s no telling if they will ever cross paths again. For some reason, the thought tears Tony apart. He doesn’t know why. 

But now, it no longer matters. A four-year-old has still lost his parents somehow. He still needs a home, even if it’s temporary. That home isn’t with Tony.

Peter has fallen asleep by the time they reach Midtown. Both Stuffie and his new fat frog have fallen to the floor below as his head hangs to the side. He will never fully comprehend this, Tony thinks, watching him in the rearview mirror. He will never understand no matter how mild or complex the situation turns out to be. He’s only four-years-old. He’s still learning words and numbers. He’s still seeing what the world has to offer. He’s far too young to be living without his parents. 

Tony is just happy to have known Peter even for a little bit. He wishes it didn’t have to be this way. 

The nerves and slight intrusive thoughts enter once Tony is driving along Queens Boulevard. He could turn off onto another street and head west. He could drive back to California with Peter, Stuffie, and their new frog friend Tony, but that’s not who Tony—the real Tony—is. Peter is still someone’s child. He is still someone’s family. 

Tony thinks that’s why he has doubts. He hasn’t had a family in nearly fifteen years, and down deep, he wishes that he still had someone. But he has Rhodey. He has Pepper and Happy. Peter needs his aunt and uncle right now—he doesn’t need Tony. 

After parking the car in front of a small apartment building on 89th Ave, Tony kneels beside Peter and squeezes his arm to wake up. He returns the frog to his lap with a smile. 

“Wakey wakey,” Tony tells him. “You ready to see your aunt and uncle?”

Peter’s eyes blink wide open. “Yeah, yeah!” he shouts, squirming in his chair. 

“Jesus, kid,” Tony mutters as he unbuckles Peter from the seat, “you’ve got enough energy to run around the sun. _Twice_.”

Peter bounds up to the front door to the building while Tony gathers his things. A tiny suitcase, an _Incredibles_ backpack, his booster seat, and a fallen Stuffie. Tony can’t imagine how ridiculous he must look carrying it up three flights of steps, but he has little room to care. Peter stays five feet ahead of him.

“This them,” he says, pointing to the first door on the right. 

Tony holds in a sigh as he sets down Peter’s belongings. He can’t keep his hand from hesitating before knocking on the door. He has a strong suspicion that saying goodbye is going to feel worse than he imagined it. 

He supposes that it hurts him more than it should because Peter is holding his hand. 

Peter’s aunt answers the door after another round of knocking. With sleep in her eyes, she furrows her brows at the sight of Tony. She lets out a quiet gasp once she sees Peter. 

“Hi, May,” Peter mumbles, hiding his face with the fat frog. “This is Tony. N’ this is Tony.” He points up from his frog to Tony with a shy smile. 

“You’re Tony Stark,” she says. “Wh—how—? Why?”

Tony doesn’t know where to begin. Halfway through the story, Peter’s uncle appears from behind May. The two of them have tears in their eyes by the end, but what kills Tony the most is that there is no end. There are no answers. Peter is here on their doorstep, and no one really knows why. 

“I can’t—I can’t believe this,” May whispers, voice wavering as she holds in a few tears. 

Peter’s uncle, Ben, has an unreadable expression on his face. He’s too shocked to comprehend. “How can we thank you?” he asks. He has Peter wrapped around his legs, hand in his hair while the fat frog stares up at Tony. 

Tony shakes his head and smiles sadly. “No thanking necessary,” he says. “Just wanted to make sure he was okay.”

May holds herself up against the doorframe, hand clutched to her chest. “Richard and May, how will we know—?”

“I will personally see that any and all information is sent directly to you,” Tony says with a nod. He feels awkward now. Uncomfortable. Like all he is and ever will be is an intrusion. 

Her expression is tight, eyes still wide and watery while she holds in her composure. She gives him a small nod before wrapping her arms around him. He hesitantly holds her back with a small pat on her shoulders, keeping his eyes on Peter the whole time. 

“Thank you,” May whispers in her ear. When she pulls away, a few tears have already fallen. 

Ben reaches a hand out for Tony to shake. “We—” he begins, sighing. “We really appreciate this—you bringing him here. To us. If anything were to have happened…” 

Tony smiles down at Peter as he replies, “he’s a good kid. Smart. Likes Goldfish and gummy worms. And he’s pretty darn brave if I do say so myself.”

“Hopefully he didn’t talk your ear off about dinosaurs all night long,” Ben says with a laugh, yet his face remains cold and sad. 

“He did _not_ ,” Tony gasps, raising a brow at Peter. He kneels down before him. “I am so disappointed. What’s your favorite dinosaur?”

“Diplodocus.” Peter giggles as he hides his face deeper into his stuffed frog. 

“No way. Mine too.”

Just as May had done, Peter runs up to Tony and falls into a hug. It’s brief, but it’s everything. And Tony is happy to hug him back as he finds himself whispering, “you’re safe now.”

“Thank you, Tony,” Peter says, smiling wide. He returns back to his uncle’s side.

“Anytime, squirt.” Tony stands up, knees creaking in the process, and feels his stomach tighten at the sudden realization of saying goodbye. “Stay out of trouble. Don’t give your aunt and uncle too much of a hard time.” Glancing back up at May and Ben, he says, “he might be afraid of gummy worms for a while. It’s a long story—not gruesome but we had a good laugh.”

Their smiles are sad, but they’re grateful.

“Say goodbye to Tony, Pete,” Ben says and ruffles Peter’s curls. 

Peter’s eyebrows knit together as he looks up at his uncle. “He’s not staying?”

“He can’t stay,” Ben answers. “He has places to be.”

Tony adds, “People to see. You know the gist. I’d stay if I could, Pete, but you’re in good hands. You’ve got Tony the fat frog to protect you. And your aunt and uncle of course.” 

When Peter’s smile wobbles into a frown, Tony’s heart begins to chip away. A pair of arms wrap around his knees while Peter cries out for Tony to stay. He knew that saying goodbye would be hard, but not this hard. 

Tony kneels back down in front of Peter, holding onto his shoulders while the kid rubs at his eyes beneath his glasses. Soft whimpers and sniffs fill the hallway. 

“Promise me you’ll be good?” Tony asks him, smiling. “You’ll go to school, make good grades and all that. And keep learning all about dinosaurs. Make me proud, kiddo.”

“I-I’m jus’—” Peter tries to say through a hiccup. “G-gonna miss you.”

A heavy feeling settles in Tony’s chest. A good one. “I’ll miss you, too,” he says. “We’ll see each other again, Pete. Somehow. I don’t even doubt it. But right now, you need lots of sleep so you can wake up in the morning and have even _more_ pancakes. Does that sound like something you can do for me?”

Peter nods, pouting. He hugs Tony once more. 

“Thank you again,” Ben says.

As Tony stands, his words fail. All he can do is smile, give Peter one last wave, and make his way back down the staircase so he won’t second guess every decision he’s ever made. That’s when Tony starts to cry as well, and he finally understands why. He lets out a breath once he returns to his car, hands trembling on the steering wheel at the thought of tonight becoming forgotten. All he has to do is spend a few hours with a kid, and he feels that his world has changed. 

Peter has a home. Peter is safe, and that’s all that matters. Tony has a feeling that, no matter what, he’ll see him again.


End file.
